Partners in Crime
by BloodIsntEnough
Summary: After the Pharaoh destroys his hideout, Marik finds a new friend and partner. Thiefshipping.
1. Chapter 1: Applebee's

**A/U: Chapter 1! Please enjoy, I hope the characters aren't too terribly OOC.**

**Warning: Foul language**

**Disclaimer: Do not own!**

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><p>Marik parked his motorcycle outside of Applebee's. He glared at the scorch marks all over it, cursing every last god he could think of.<p>

Why had it all gone wrong? He wasn't supposed to be on the run. If only Rishid hadn't fucked everything up!

Thinking of his adopted brother brought on a new onslaught of curses. He was dead. That much was certain. The last Marik had seen of his brother he had been carrying a heavily bleeding Ishizu as he tried to escape the burning building. But Marik's rival, a man only known as "The Pharaoh," hadn't finished with his enemy drug lord yet. Oh no.

Marik gritted his teeth and kicked the wheel on his motorcycle as it played in his mind again and again.

His own terrified heart trying to explode from his chest as his breath came in great sobbing heaves while he ran.

His sister Ishizu smiling at him for a moment before the gunshots rang out and her white dress turning instantly red as she slumped in her chair.

And Rishid… Fuck that man! Marik kicked his motorcycle again. Instead of allowing his little brother become as evil and corrupted as "The Pharaoh," he had betrayed Marik and told his arch-enemy where to find him. Rishid had always been the honorable one; always doing the right thing, always trying to steer Marik onto a better path. He had even sacrificed his life trying to save the already dead Ishizu.

Marik gave the once red motorcycle one last good kick, ignoring the pain in his foot. He stomped toward the crappy restaurant. When he entered, the nearly empty interior was a welcome sight. Granted it was 11:35 and it closed at midnight, but he was still relieved that hardly anyone was there.

"Hi, welcome to Applebee's!" chirped a short curly haired redhead, "Just one?"

"Do I look like a party of twenty?" he shot back.

The girl laughed and led him to a wonderfully secluded booth. "Here's your menu, sir, I'm Stacy and I'll be your server tonight, would you like anything to drink?" she asked with as few pauses as she could manage.

"Hi Stacy, I'm Marik, I almost got blown up today, what do you suggest?" said Marik in the most scathing tone he could muster.

Stacy pursed her lips and thought for a moment. 'Damn this girl is good,' thought the tanned Egyptian as he watched her through pissed off eyes. It was like she got asked that every night.

"Well, I think you might be in need of a Long Island. Sound good?"

Long Island iced tea, eh? Fuck, that sounded really good right now. "Sounds good," confirmed Marik as he gave Stacy a winning smile that made her blush.

As soon as Stacy was gone, Marik began perusing the menu, his temper cooling slightly with the future prospect of alcohol. He sighed as he debated between the Cajun Shrimp Pasta or a Fire Pit Bacon Burger.

At some point Stacy must have brought another customer over, because when Marik looked up to smile at the appearance his Long Island, a ghostly looking man with a shock of white hair sat in the booth after his.

'And I thought my hairstyle was unique,' thought Marik as he studied the man's artistic white locks. Marik began fiddling with one of his golden earrings as he continued to stare at the man, the gold between his fingers and the alcohol he was sipping easing his tension.

White Hair looked up with a harsh but flirty smirk directed at Marik. "See something you like?" his eyes clearly asked. Marik felt himself flush. He felt like a stupid teenager caught staring at their crush from across the room. White Hair's widening smirk told him that was exactly what he looked like too.

He could have sworn the man had red eyes.

"Ready to order?" Stacy asked in that obscenely cheerful tone.

"Uh...Cajun Shrimp Pasta," said Marik distractedly.

Stacy turned to White Hair. "How 'bout you, Bakura? The usual?"

"Bakura" nodded. "New York Strip, rare enough a good vet could bring it back to life," he said, that same flirty yet harsh smirk on his face. It was really rather sexy…

Stacy wandered off and Marik found it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes off "Bakura." The man looked at him from under his spiky bangs with half lidded eyes and a smug little smile.

Marik didn't want to admit it, but it was quite possibly the most seductive thing he had ever seen.

They were served at the same time, their orders coming out in under twenty-five minutes, which made Marik ecstatic and Bakura mildly enthused. Stacy poured Bakura a glass of some type of red wine then finally left them alone.

Before Marik could lift his fork, however, Bakura raised his wine glass to him. "To eating alone," he said with something between a sad smile and that damn sexy smirk twitching his lips.

Marik raised his Long Island. "To eating alone," he said.

They tilted their glasses as if to clink them together then each took a sip from their respective drinks. Bakura picked up his plate and carried it over to Marik's booth. He sat across from the blond Egyptian. "You know my name, but I don't know yours," he said matter-of-factly as he began cutting his steak.

"My name is Marik," said Marik automatically.

Bakura raised his wine glass again, that stupid, infuriating, bewitching smirk on his face. "So tell me_, Marik_, see something you like?"

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><p><strong>AN: Well, if anyone's reading this, what did you think? Next chapter should be up within the next week.**


	2. Chapter 2: The Apartment

**A/U: Chapter 2! Please enjoy, I hope the characters aren't too terribly OOC.**

**Warning: Foul language**

**Disclaimer: Do not own!**

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><p><em>The blood ran down Ishizu's chest, the red stark against its white background. Marik froze where mid-step in his pacing, staring at his sister in horror. "I-Ishizu?" he said, his voice cracking. She still smiled at him, her eyes glowing with the light of the lamp beside her. But they were dead. <em>She_ was dead. "RISHID!" he screamed. His step-brother, only a few feet away, did not need Marik's shout to run to Ishizu, checking her pulse. "Bring her back!" And for the first time in his life, Rishid did not obey his younger step-brother. He turned to the blond. "Master Marik, run. It's not safe. Get out of here!" Their eyes locked. And Marik knew, knew that Rishid had sold him out, knew that this night had been coming. It was all there, written on his step-brother's face. Marik turned on his heel and ran. He reached his motorcycle just as the building behind him exploded, sending him and the red machine flying._

"Wake up, dammit!"

Marik's eyes fluttered open. Someone with a shock of white hair was shaking him violently. He wondered if Rishid was wearing a wig for some ungodly reason.

"Go away, Rishid," mumbled the drug lord, rolling to his side, "I'll get up whenever the fuck I want to."

Bakura growled angrily, dropping the groggy Marik back onto his bed. He went to his tiny kitchen and filled the largest glass he owned to the brim with ice cold water. "Wake. _Up_," he said, pouring the water onto Marik's head. He wasn't about to let Marik go on screaming for another couple hours.

Marik yelled in shock, falling out of the bed in his hurry to escape the icy attack. "WHAT THE HELL, RISHID?" he screeched, pushing his soaked hair out of his face.

"My name's Bakura, you idiot."

Marik looked up at what he had previously assumed to be Rishid. He blinked several times. "Whoops. Sorry about that," he said, smiling innocently at Bakura. "Where am I?"

Bakura frowned. "I didn't think you drank _that_ much." He grabbed Marik's shirt, pulling him to his feet. The Egyptian's face paled immediately. "Oh fuck," he muttered, clutching his head. "Apparently you did drink that much," said Bakura dryly, "or you have no tolerance for alcohol. Either or." Marik glared at him, the headache splitting his skull marking any chances for a witty comeback impossible.

"I didn't think you'd be this much trouble," grumbled Bakura as he watched Marik dunk his head from first an ice cold bucket of water to one with boiling hot water. The water stains were not going to make his landlord happy at all.

"What's that supposed to mean?" gasped Marik, flipping his head back and sending his gold hair flying through the air and over his bare shoulders. Bakura frowned. "When I brought you home, I didn't think someone as pretty as you would make such a mess." Marik matched Bakura's frown. "Well, I'll have you know that- Wait, what?"

"I suppose you _were _too drunk to remember much. By the time we left Applebee's, you were singing something Japanese between breaking down about how your brother had betrayed you and how you had nothing left in the world, blah blah blah oh woe is me. Long story short, I snagged your keys and drove us home. And I wasn't expecting you to splash water all over the apartment I'm about to get kicked out of."

"I wouldn't worry about this piece of junk," said Marik, looking around at the broken furniture and gray surroundings, "I'll get us set up somewhere much nicer."

"Excuse me?"

Marik rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, you really think I'm going to just leave my only friend in the world alone in a crappy apartment?"

Bakura pursed his lips slightly, looking the shirtless Marik over. "When did we become friends? And why the bloody hell would you do anything for me?" he asked after a few minutes of total silence except for the sloshing of water. Marik put his hands on his hips. "Look, do you want a fancy house or not?" he countered impatiently.

Marik's eyebrows came dangerously close to connecting as Bakura continued to look suspicious. "So why were you trying to wake me up?" he asked. Bakura looked blankly at the Egyptian. "Oh come on, there must have been a reason," said Marik in a whiny voice.

"You wouldn't stop," his white haired acquaintance said in a soft voice. Marik raised his eyebrows slightly. "You slept peacefully enough at first, but around eight you started whimpering," explained Bakura, not meeting Marik's gaze. "I didn't think much of it at first but then…" His voice trailed off and his maroon eyes darted around the apartment. "After a while you started writhing and screaming. From what I could understand, you were back at the explosion." He stopped there; he wasn't about to admit how spooked he had been.

Marik smirked at Bakura. "That's a point for the "BFF's" team," he said. Bakura crossed his arms. "No it isn't, I wanted to keep my sanity and my hearing," he insisted. Marik rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Do you want a fancy house?"

Bakura looked around the apartment again. Judging from the look on his face, he hated it and wanted out. "No strings attached," Marik added quickly. Bakura's eyes widened slightly; apparently he didn't hear that often. He met Marik's eyes fully.

"Deal."

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the delay, I know I said a week for this to come up. However, after some major technical difficulties, things should be back on schedule somewhat now! Please review and be bleedingly honest.**


	3. Chapter 3: Mansion Hunting

**A/N: Hello again! Finally finished chapter 3. I'm sorry about the wait- this chapter did NOT want to be written. **

**Warning: There's drinking in the chapter. **

**Disclaimer: Do not own! (and I don't condone drunkness)**

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><p>Bakura groaned.<p>

"Marik it's a house, not a goddamn purse!"

The blond Egyptian glared at him. "I am not living in a dump! That last place had horrible carpet!"

Again Bakura groaned. Marik seemed to have overlooked the fact that he could change the carpet if he wanted to. They had been looking at houses for a week now, spending eight hours of each day at different real estate offices and mock up mansions.

In short Bakura was wondering if taking Marik's deal had been such a good idea after all.

Currently they were living in a hotel (the Four Seasons) in a ridiculously expensive room (the Ty Warner Penthouse, allegedly the most expensive hotel room in the world) since Bakura's landlord had unceremoniously kicked them out of the apartment. Not that Marik minded, Bakura's grey little cell of a living space had nearly driven him insane with how dull and inferior it was.

"Ooh, this one looks pretty!" Marik was pointing at yet another mansion through the car window. Even the agent's patience was running thin.

"Marik, it's almost identical to the last house!"

"No it isn't Bakura, see, it has round windows!"

This was Marik Ishtar. Known as "The Tomb Keeper" to the police and everyone else who wasn't a close friend. A mysterious teenage Egyptian who had come one day to New York City then taken control of nearly every drug and crime ring overnight. No one even knew how. Considered by many to be a strategical genius and the real ruler of New York's underground network of everything criminal.

He was probably the biggest idiot Bakura had ever met.

Well, he_ was_ buying Bakura a house so he couldn't be a _complete_ moron.

With a sigh, the agent and Bakura followed the blond as he bounced up to the house. "Sir, is he always like this?" asked the agent in a low voice. Bakura shrugged. "He had maple syrup with a side of waffles this morning, does that tell you anything?" he replied.

…

"I dunno, Bakura, this one didn't have very good lighting, but it _did_ have that amazing walk in closet…"

As Marik cheerfully rambled about mansions, flitting around the living room of the penthouse, brandishing pictures of various ridiculously priced houses, Bakura gazed out the window. He tossed back his fourth shot of 'Crimson Tide' (a drink he had become rather partial to here in the penthouse. He would have to get the recipe from the bar tender). The silver haired man had long since tuned Marik out, his thoughts turning to more important things.

Mainly, work.

Bakura was quite fond to his job. He loved the adrenaline rush he got from it, keeping him awake until late the next day. And although Crimson Tide was quickly becoming a close second, he needed to get back to his first love and addiction.

It_ was_ an addiction after all. He needed to feed it.

And, as luck would have it, he already had a job pending. His employer needed a few things done- a snatch here, a grab there, possibly a slash here and there. Bakura had worked for him several times before and he was good for a payout. All he had to do was make one phone call…

"Bakura? Bakuraaaaaa? Bakura are you listening to me?" Marik waved the pictures frantically back and forth in front of Bakura's eyes. Said male snapped back to reality and out of reverie. "W-what? Marik get those things out of my face!" Bakura slapped the offending pictures away, sending them flying. "Bakura! I had them color coded!" said Marik chidingly.

Bakura looked blankly at the Egyptian before dropping his head into his hands. His shoulders shook with uncontrollable mirth. "Jesus Christ," he spluttered. "What did I do to earn this?" Marik frowned. "Shut up," he said, "I'm the only reason you're not sleeping under a park bench."

Bakura just rolled his eyes, picking up another glass. "Marik, I have slept under park benches before, and believe me, they are much nicer than the general civilized public thinks," he said. The blond sighed, gathering up his fallen pictures. "You don't like me, do you?" he asked. "No, not really," said Bakura. "But I haven't killed you yet either." Marik's innocent eyes widened as he gazed in fright at his seemingly homicidal friend.

The silver haired man stared. "Marik, how the bloody hell did you become the second most powerful crime-drug lord thing in New York? You're so…" He searched for the right word, "…nice." He frowned. Marik's attitude was nothing like the bosses he had worked for. It didn't make an ounce of sense. "You loathe killing, or at least I think you do, you don't seem to have a mean bone in your body, and you're more worried about what you're going to wear for the day than the fact that _your older brother betrayed you to your only competition. _Oh, don't give me that look!_"_

Marik smirked and continued to give Bakura the kicked puppy look. "Obviously I charmed my way to the top," he said airily, standing up with his hands full of pictures. He hoped his careless behavior would cover his lie. "I think I'll finish looking at these tomorrow," he said as he glanced at the pictures, "When you're not drunk." The Egyptian put the mansions on the table next to Bakura's numerous drinks and walked away to his bedroom.

Bakura watched him with stony eyes as he left. "What are you hiding?" he murmured, reaching for a new glass. He caught a glimpse of one of the mansions out of the corner of his eye and picked it up instead. "I must be drunk out of my mind," he muttered as he scooped up the other pictures and began to inspect them.

…

"I want this one," Bakura stated matter-of-factly, pushing a single picture across the breakfast table.

Marik paused mid-bite, looking away from his fashion magazine. "If I remember correctly," Bakura said, "You fell in love with the master bedroom. I personally liked how the kitchen was set up. There's plenty of closet space, the lighting was perfect, and I picked out some tile and carpeting that would accent the place best. What do you think?"

The Egyptian looked at Bakura with something between a smirk and incredulity. "You were actually paying attention?" he asked. Bakura rolled his eyes. He wondered if it was possible to pull an eye muscle from rolling them too much. "In my line of work, paying attention means staying out of jail, Princess," he said. "As inane as your ramblings were, yes, I paid attention with at least one ear."

Marik grinned. "You know what this means, Fluffy?" he said with joy practically radiating off him.

Bakura winced, instantly regretting the use of 'Princess.' "No, I don't," he said warily.

"This means we're _best _friends!"

Bakura groaned.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, there's chapter 3. A quick note back to chapter 2: when Marik is dunking his head into the buckets of water, there was supposed to be a time skip of about ten or fifteen minutes. However, I didn't realize that FF format didn't allow for the extra space between lines so...it got rather muddled. Any who...please review/critique!**


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